Part 32 (1/2)

”You were certainly right to go,” said the Guernsey man. ”Who knows whether there will not be a tempest to-morrow? At this season you may wait and find it worse.”

A few moments later, the Durande entered the fog bank.

The effect was singular. Suddenly those who were on the after-deck could not see those forward. A soft grey medium divided the s.h.i.+p in two.

Then the entire vessel pa.s.sed into the fog. The sun became like a dull red moon. Everybody suddenly s.h.i.+vered. The pa.s.sengers put on their overcoats, and the sailors their tarpaulins. The sea, almost without a ripple, was the more menacing from its cold tranquillity. All was pale and wan. The black funnel and the heavy smoke struggled with the dewy mist which enshrouded the vessel.

Dropping to westward was now useless. The captain kept the vessel's head again towards Guernsey, and gave orders to put on the steam.

The Guernsey pa.s.senger, hanging about the engine-room hatchway, heard the negro Imbrancam talking to his engineer comrade. The pa.s.senger listened. The negro said:

”This morning, in the sun, we were going half steam on; now, in the fog, we put on steam.”

The Guernsey man returned to Clubin.

”Captain Clubin, a look-out is useless; but have we not too much steam on?”

”What can I do, sir? We must make up for time lost through the fault of that drunkard of a helmsman.”

”True, Captain Clubin.”

And Clubin added:

”I am anxious to arrive. It is foggy enough by day: it would be rather too much at night.”

The Guernsey man rejoined his St. Malo fellow-pa.s.sengers, and remarked:

”We have an excellent captain.”

At intervals, great waves of mist bore down heavily upon them, and blotted out the sun; which again issued out of them pale and sickly. The little that could be seen of the heavens resembled the long strips of painted sky, dirty and smeared with oil, among the old scenery of a theatre.

The Durande pa.s.sed close to a cutter which had cast anchor for safety.

It was the _Shealtiel_ of Guernsey. The master of the cutter remarked the high speed of the steam-vessel. It struck him also, that she was not in her exact course. She seemed to him to bear to westward too much. The apparition of this vessel under full steam in the fog surprised him.

Towards two o'clock the weather had become so thick that the captain was obliged to leave the bridge, and plant himself near the steersman. The sun had vanished, and all was fog. A sort of ashy darkness surrounded the s.h.i.+p. They were navigating in a pale shroud. They could see neither sky nor water.

There was not a breath of wind.

The can of turpentine suspended under the bridge, between the paddle-boxes, did not even oscillate.

The pa.s.sengers had become silent.

The Parisian, however, hummed between his teeth the song of Beranger--”_Un jour le bon Dieu s'eveillant_.”

One of the St. Malo pa.s.sengers addressed him:

”You are from Paris, sir?”

”Yes, sir. _Il mit la tete a la fenetre._”